


Crash and Burn

by idealistic_fatalism



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith's a barista, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), coffee shop AU, fluff with angst ending, oh lance is a broke college student, they write letters back and fourth on sticky notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idealistic_fatalism/pseuds/idealistic_fatalism
Summary: Lance only worried about three things nowadays, coffee, midterms, and whether he actually likes the coffee, or really just the guy who makes it.What was he thinking about now?  The third one.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my (very late) gift for the Langstron Gift exchange for @imori-hikaru on tumblr! 
> 
> I eventually want to do more with this I swear! But life gets in the way sometimes :(( 
> 
> Never the less I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> [Langstron Gift Exchange 2020](https://langstron.tumblr.com/)

When Lance came bursting through the doors of _The Altean Cafe_ for the third day in a row, no one even gave him a second glance. Thinking nothing of the coffee addicts antics. 

One person, however, was very intrigued by his arrival. 

Keith Kogane, resident barista (the one who ultimately, Lance decided, makes the best coffee). With his greasy hair and phony leather jacket, Lance called open season on (playful) insults that moment he met the guy (Lance always claims he secretly loves the attention. Keith, only in private, doesn’t disagree). 

He doesn’t say anything to him but only looks on as Lance gives him a quick smile, accompanied by a wave, and sets his stuff down at his regular table. How could you tell it was his favorite? Well other than the fact he sat there every day, it was the complete disregard for other people’s time that gave it away. Lance was an art major. Keith didn’t know if he was any good or not. He worried he wouldn’t like the answer either way. 

To broken off pencil tips, eraser shavings, paint streaks, and paper scraps, one day Keith had finally said ‘enough’. The problem with this ‘enough’ was that Keith was ultimately too shy for face to face confrontations. Especially with Lance. It wasn’t a good look to tell off the guy you're trying to get with. Keith now kicked himself for that logic.

Instead of being a normal person and just talking to him, he wrote a note on a sticky note and put it on the chair around closing. 

_Dear Lance Mcclain,_

_I know you sit here every day, and I know that you're an insufferable art major. I have to clean this table every day when you're done with it, and would most appreciate it if you would actually clean up after yourself._

_Because I’m sick of it._

_Yours truly,_

_The Barista whose sick of your bullshit_

Ok, so looking back on it, it wasn’t the nicest thing he could have said to him. It was stalkerish too. He used his full name? Really? 

Keith was so intrigued with the response he got the following day, it didn’t once occur to him that Lance very well could have called the police on him instead. 

  
  


~*~

Lance only worried about three things nowadays, coffee, midterms, and whether he actually likes the coffee, or really just the guy who makes it. 

What was he thinking about now? The third one. 

Troubling times, troubling times. 

For the time being, however, he had decided to put that thought on the back burner (only because he was currently getting coffee from said barista). Because Lance, a chaotic art major, at least had one constant in his schedule when he went to get coffee. 

He went every day basically. Except on weekends. 

Usually. 

This week was the week leading up to midterms, which meant he had to get a portfolio ready. He hated this time of year. Not that he hated art class- it’s just a lot to create in such a short timespan. 

That's why he’s opted to get a head start. And why he’s come to the coffee shop every day. 

A subject. He needs a subject for his portfolio. And so far all he’s got is coffee and scones. Maybe- just maybe Keith. But that was pushing it. For that, he’d need permission. And to get that he’d need to _ask_ to _draw him._ It sounded more and more mortifying the longer he pondered it. 

.

Regardless, after getting his stuff settled, he headed up to order, not surprised when Keith had already started making his usual.

“Hey, Keith!” Lance sing-songed to the boy making him an iced coffee. 

“Focusing.” He grumbled back. Clearly done with Lance’s bullshit already (Which he thought was unfair! He’d barely been there for 5 minutes)!

Rolling his eyes he started to tap his fingers on the countertop, using his other hand to grab some cash to pay for his order. 

It usually took him about 1:44 seconds to make his order. Yes. He counted. 

As he stood, counting down the seconds in his head, he couldn’t help but stare at the person in front of him. Getting lost into his raven black hair, lance almost - _almost_ forgot what he was doing. Before his brain quickly supplied him with the answer. 

And- 3…. 2…. 1… done. 

Lance, as he slid the money to Keith, thought about the inevitable teasing that would ensue if anyone found out about this specific moment in time. 

~*~

  
  
  
  


“Not the regular this time oh Mullet man.” Lance was especially cheery today, it showed in the way he bounced up to the counter, barely flinching when Keith shot back his signature glare. “Add… hm… shall we say 3 shots of espresso to that?” Lance decided to take Keith’s widening eyes as a yes, and nodded to confirm his order. 

Keith’s glare faltered for a moment, just barely showing that he cared. “That's… a lot of caffeine. Even for your stupid ass.” Keith shot back, shaking his head to rid the almost soft expression on his face. “I’m not putting that in. You get one. That's all.” 

A pout formed on Lance’s lips before he could stop it. Keith had to stop himself from gawking. “Why do you even _care?_ Isn’t your job just to make the coffee, hand it to the said person who ordered the coffee, and move on?” 

He paused for a minute. “Maybe so,” He agreed, “But I can’t make you any more coffee if you're dead from a caffeine overdose.

All the Cuban could do was shrug at that. Ultimately giving up to browse the glass cabinet filled with food. Keith could geuss that he wanted to get something today, he looked like he was starved with the way he gazed at the food. 

“And can I have a scone with that Keithy? Peach?” 

He _hated_ that nickname. Lance thought he was just being an asshole. But the way his knees weakened when Lance said it… well he hated it. Hated the way it made him feel. 

“Do you ever say anything of substance?” Was the last thing Keith said before ushering him back to his table to eat the scone and drink his coffee.

~*~

Lance, well getting out his school books a day later, pondered their last interaction for a moment. 

‘Something of substance...’ 

The only ‘substance’ he wanted right now was some liquor. Maybe that would help him get through his ludicrous homework. 

The boy tore through his folders trying to find the right assignment. He swore he put it in there somewhere...

When he found it, he regretted even _opening_ the folder in question. 

Why should he care about polynomial functions? He was an _art_ major. ART! 

  
  
  


It was halfway through his practice worksheet that Lance decided that the weird baristas notes were currently the only thing bringing him joy at the moment. 

  
  


_Dear Barista Person_

_Do you know what a ‘polynomial function’ is? I have been working on this practice worksheet for the better part of an hour, I’ve only done like 14/30 so far, and I can guess they're all probably wrong._

_Help._

_I hope that your major doesn't fall into liberal arts like mine, or this was a massive waste of time._

_I’m really counting on you Mx. Bullshit :)))_

_Lance_

He stuck the note into its spot, staring at it a minute before crumbling up the worksheet, and gingerly placing it right next to the note. 

~*~

A- a polynomial function? Keith was going to _die. Absolutely die_ with this information. The second he read the note it was all he could do to not snort like a pig in front of all the customers. 

He knew Lance was an idiot, but he didn't think he was _dumb_ too. 

Nevertheless, Keith found great joy in filling in the worksheet questions whenever he got some downtime between customers. 

The look of pure joy on Lance Mcclain's face was something Keith didn’t think he would ever get the chance to experience. 

The way his face lit up, two dimples forming in his cheeks as his grin spread across his face, was something Keith never wanted to stop staring at. 

And when he opened the worksheet that Keith had left to accompany his note, he swore he saw a _tear_ trail down his face. 

‘Dramatic mother fucker.’ Keith quipped to himself before going back to work. 

~*~

After that day, Lance started to leave more and more math homework crumpled up beside his note. Keith loved to help him out, but it was starting to become excessive. And interfere with his work schedule. So, even though he wasn’t sure how Lance would take it, he decided to leave a note with a suggestion on it. 

_Dear Lance,_

_This is the last worksheet I’ll do for you. You should find a tutor! At least then you’ll start scoring better on your tests too…_

_Anyway, I wanted to discuss the merits of your last note…_

What Keith wasn’t expecting, was _him_ being the person he asked for tutoring. 

  
  


~*~

“Could you explain number four again? I still don’t quite get it…” 

Furry was the only thing Lance could see in Keith’s eyes right then. Unadulterated rage aimed directly at him. 

“I have explained number four. Four. Times.” He grumbled out, dangerously low. 

“Uh-” Lance squeaked out. “Fifth times the charm?” 

~*~

Making coffee was something that always came easily for Keith. He never had to pay attention much, his muscle memory kicking in. This made it easier for his mind to wander. More specifically, it was his brain's one-way ticket to Lance-vile. First stop? Pining. 

The tutoring was great. He didn’t exactly _enjoy it,_ Lance was pretty dense. But he got to spend more time with him one on one. 

They even started having more conversations together. Not just about math and coffee too, they _opened up to each other._ Well- technically Lance has opened up to Keith, not the other way around. 

Mostly, Lance talks about art, art class, and the ‘anonymous’ notes he gets. Keith tried to keep the conversation off of those the best he can, but it’s hard when he’s just so excited about them. It’s like looking at a kid with his face pressed up against a candy store. It’s kinda sad, but so cute you can’t look away. 

~*~

Another Monday, another study session. Usually, Keith reserves his Monday morning for more important things, like sleeping. But because midterms are coming up, Keith gave in, and now they study almost every day together. 

‘Study…’ Keith thought to himself as he saw Lance burst in, a huge smile on his face. His emotions swirled uncomfortably. On the one hand, he wouldn’t have to do much teaching today, on the other, the boy he likes is probably going to fawn over a stupid note to him. 

“Keithkeithkeithkeithkeithkeithkeith!!” Yep, definitely a note.

He looked on with annoyance as Lance slapped it on the table, words shining brightly in pink highlighter. “Yes?” He huffed out in mock annoyance. 

“Look at the note I got yesterday! I’ve never in my life met a STEAM major whos so- so POETIC?! Look at the way they used the characters in Animal Farm to express the ideas of modern-day capitalism in regards to the current administration! It’s so beautiful!” 

...That’s another thing Keith has learned. Cool, suave, ‘ladies man’ Lance Mcclain, is a secret dork. Like. A major one. 

It was cute at first, endearing. But then Lance started asking Keith all these _questions._ Like what his favorite book was, his favorite author, his favorite artist from the _mannerism_ period. And when he couldn’t give him an answer, he felt bad. Lance’s face would fall, like Keith had somehow disappointed him by not knowing all this stuff. 

That’s when the studying started. He started studying the art era’s, classic literature, and refining his poetry knowledge. The only thing was, he couldn’t say this stuff in regular conversation, he already proved himself as an absolute idiot in the subjects that were presented. So, Keith decided that writing him letters was the only way. He asked him about his favorite poetry collection, how themes from classic literature still affect the world today, the whole package. 

He felt fine about it until Lance started _showing_ Keith _his own_ letters. He was furious. Not at the fact that he was showing the letters to people, but at Lance’s _expression_ when he read them. It was a crush. Lance had a crush on the person writing the letters. 

~*~

Today Lance couldn’t make it to _The Altean Cafe,_ he had too much work, and too little time. He had to go into the studio, sit down, and work. He had all the notes, all the post-its that were passed between the two. Him, and Keith. 

It wasn’t like it was a big secret, he’s known since Keith started writing the art notes… no one except an art major knows _that_ much about the _mannerism_ era without researching like a mad man. _Especially_ when they're in a STEAM major. 

He just- never opted to tell him. It seemed like too much work for little payoff. Keith- he was so standoffish outside of the letters, never really giving him the time of day, except when they were studying. 

Now though, he had a plan to tell him, he just wanted to get it over with. 

With the notes- he was going to make a collage, and right in the middle, a picture of Keith working behind the counter. It was perfect. 

~*~

“Hey, Keith?” Lance called over in the middle of one of their study sessions (midterms were over. They continued anyway). 

Keith looked up in acknowledgment, signaling Lance to keep going. 

“Do you maybe want to come to see my art project? My class is having a show, and we get one invite! My Mama lives far away… so would you like to?” Lance was fidgeting, playing with his hair in a way Keith recognized as nervousness. 

“Yeah, leave me a note with the address.” 

“Leave you a note…” 

“I meant text!” 

“But Keith… I don’t have your number?” 

Keith stared blankly at the floor for a second before getting up and walking away. 

~*~

About ten different variations of ‘fuck’ were going through Lance’s head at this very moment. He was late, so god awful late. 

He has dressed already. A freshly pressed button-down, free of wrinkles and wear, sat gently upon his skin. It was ocean blue, to complement his eyes. Below that, a pair of black jeans sat. His clothes though - well they weren’t the thing holding him back. 

It was the damn traffic. 

It seemed like he hit _every_ red light he could have possibly hit that night. 

In theory, he didn’t live that far away, but with everyone getting out of there nine to fives at _exactly_ the same time, Lance’s attempt to get to the gallery on time felt fruitless. 

Sighing deeply within his chest, he saw the next traffic light, it was yellow, he could make it. 

He could make it. 

He could. 

He _didn’t._

The car came too quickly. 

Lance, he didn’t see it. 

  
The cars, they _crashed_.


End file.
